He soon continued, in a firmer voice, and adapting his tone to what he had to say, “When I was of Albert’s age, sir, my parents made me marry, in spite of my protestations, the noblest and purest of young girls.  I made her the most unhappy of women.  I could not love her.  I cherished a most passionate love for a mistress, who had trusted herself to me, and whom I had loved for a long time.  I found her rich in beauty, purity and mind.  Her name was Valerie.  My heart is, so to say, dead and cold in me, sir, but, ah! when I pronounce that name, it still has a great effect upon me.  In spite of my marriage, I could not induce myself to part from her, though she wished me to.  The idea of sharing my love with another was revolting to her.  No doubt she loved me then.  Our relations continued.  My wife and my mistress became mothers at nearly the same time.  This coincidence suggested to me the fatal idea of sacrificing my legitimate son to his less fortunate brother.  I communicated this project to Valerie.  To my great surprise, she refused it with horror.  Already the maternal instinct was aroused within her; she would not be separated from her child.  I have preserved, as a monument of my folly, the letters which she wrote to me at that time.  I re-read them only last night.  Ah! why did I not listen to both her arguments and her prayers?  It was because I was mad.  She had a sort of presentiment of the evil which overwhelms me to-day.  But I came to Paris;—­I had absolute control over her.  I threatened to leave her, never to see her again.  She yielded; and my valet and Claudine Lerouge were charged with this wicked substitution.  It is, therefore, the son of my mistress who bears the title of Viscount de Commarin, and who was arrested but a short time ago.”

M. Daburon had not hoped for a declaration so clear, and above all so prompt.  He secretly rejoiced for the young advocate whose noble sentiments had quite captivated him.

“So, count,” said he, “you acknowledge that M. Noel Gerdy is the issue of your legitimate marriage, and that he alone is entitled to bear your name?”

“Yes, sir.  Alas!  I was then more delighted at the success of my project than I should have been over the most brilliant victory.  I was so intoxicated with the joy of having my Valerie’s child there, near me, that I forgot everything else.  I had transferred to him a part of my love for his mother; or, rather, I loved him still more, if that be possible.  The thought that he would bear my name, that he would inherit all my wealth, to the detriment of the other, transported me with delight.  The other, I hated; I could not even look upon him.  I do not recollect having kissed him twice.  On this point Valerie, who was very good, reproached me severely.  One thing alone interfered with my happiness.  The Countess de Commarin adored him whom she believed to be her son, and always wished to have him on her knees.  I cannot express what I suffered at seeing my wife cover with kisses and caresses the child of my mistress.  But I kept him from her as much as I could; and she, poor woman! not understanding what was passing within me, imagined that I was doing everything to prevent her son loving her.  She died, sir, with this idea, which poisoned her last days.  She died of sorrow; but saint-like, without a complaint, without a murmur, pardon upon her lips and in her heart.”